


Feels Like Home

by InkMySkin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Explicit Sexual Content, First Dance, Fluff, Gay Sex, M/M, Weddings, short sex scene, wedding!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 19:33:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2320847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkMySkin/pseuds/InkMySkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first dance of newlyweds John and Sherlock Holmes-Watson is about to begin, but one groom has disappeared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feels Like Home

John had never been so nervous.

His stomach not this twisted even before the ceremony. 

Marrying had been logical in Sherlock’s eyes, they had successfully lived together for four years, a little over half of which in a strong romantic attachment. To John, proposing and marrying Sherlock today was equivalent to having found the other half of his soul and reattaching him permanently. Even if the other half could be infuriating, rash and stroppy, but Sherlock’s hidden generosity, his thirst for knowledge and unwavering devotion to John redeemed all. They say that home is where the heart is, and John’s was firmly in Sherlock’s hands.

Thankfully, they had managed to keep the ceremony private from the prying eyes of the increasingly curious press. Now, John was sat at the head table, waiting for the call of their first dance. The seat next to him lay empty. Sherlock, the bastard, had disappeared. The doctor rested his wrists on the table, his right index finger and thumb rubbing at the gold band that lay on his left ring finger in a nervous tick. Harry reached over their Mother’s discarded chair and rested her hand on his wrist.

“Alright?” 

John shot his sister a small grateful smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Have you spotted my husband around at all?” As he spoke, his smile widened to touch his eyes properly at the mention of Sherlock.

When they had announced the engagement to their families, John had taken Harry aside to speak seriously with her. It had turned into the most honest heart to heart the two siblings had ever had. Harry had cleaned up her act and her relationship with Clara was at its strongest.

“Last I saw he was buying Uncle Sam a drink at the bar.” The elder Watson glanced around, “No sign now through ey.”

“Jilted. Knew it. Scarpered already on his own wedding.” John smiled, his tone joking while his traitorous mind ran riot. 

Harry smiled sympathetically. “He’ll show up again, probably nipped for a cheeky celebratory smoke.” Clara touched at her arm then and John lost his sister’s conversation.

John’s attention turned back to the array of tables in front of him. He could not grasp what was making him so nervous; the worst, as they say, was over. He supposed it could be the prospect of the first dance, a little daunting considering John’s previous dancing experiences he preferred not to remember and the Watson trait of two left feet. A small dance should not worry fierce Captain Watson, who led a small highly skilled section of troops through Afghanistan. Pull it together, Watson. 

John’s eyes automatically scanned for Sherlock again, seeking out the height, the curls and usually mayhem in his wake. He smiled at those guests who catch his eye, aunts and cousins, mostly on the Holmes side. 

The band finished the song they were playing and John feels to loss of the music almost instantly, before the lead musician approached the microphone.

“I’d like to welcome to the floor the happy couple, John and Sherlock.” 

_Fuck, where is the bastard._ John beams like he wants to dance, fooling those around him and trying not to look bereft without his other half. As he stood up his leg go weak, as if they would not hold his weight. John experienced a blind moment of panic. It will not hold. His leg. He’ll stand to dance, partner-less, and fall. Or he’ll trip on his own laces or toes and collapse onto the unforgiving wood of the dance floor. The scene plays out in his mind; humiliated he’ll lie there before someone thinks to help. The beautiful detective landed with the broken army doctor, a husk of a man, before middle age.

Just as he knew his leg would drop out beneath him, a large warm hand curled around his waist and griped his suit at the back, steadying him with the extra presence of Sherlock’s chest just behind his shoulder. “Got you.” His husband’s voice murmured, polite smile on his lips for the guests watching them now, most of which Sherlock would normally have no time, nor a care for.

John exhaled hard, “Where have you been?” He steadied himself and stepped alongside Sherlock onto the floor, their fingers entwined.

“Doing the obligatory family rounds. Everyone has only grown more tedious since we last met.” Sherlock’s quiet voice, just for the two of them, morphed from obscenely bored to quietly manic in a second. “Aunt Edie has enrolled on Cordon Bleu cookery classes. You can imagine the ruckus that caused at the Institute.” His face remaining politely smiling and John had to stifle his giggle into the detective’s lapel as the taller man pulled them into position. 

The band started playing the piece they chose together, and Sherlock began leading them around the floor, his eyes to John’s own, while the doctor glanced down at their feet every couple of steps. 

“What happened with your leg just then?” Sherlock’s baritone seemed to reverberate through John’s body, sending a small shiver up his spine. 

“Nerves. Felt like it was going to drop out from under me.” John shrugged as best he could with Sherlock’s arm over his shoulder. He pulled their adjoined hands into the space between their chests and over his heart as he worked on keeping his head up. 

As they moved, John noticed his husband’s eyes settle over his shoulder to one of the guests. Sherlock mouthed a small ‘thank you’ to whoever’s gaze he had met, his storm blue eyes full of earnest. 

The turned about the floor and John’s eyes swiveled to find the recipient of Sherlock’s genuine message. The doctor smiled when he found him; Mike Stamford sat watching from one of the nearby tables, looking like a damn successful cupid.

Sherlock‘s attention shifted back to John, hearing his paranoia over his leg in his voice. He let his own hesitation sit between them for a second, before deciding that by marrying John earlier, he had well and truly let sentiment get the better of him anyway. 

“I would never let you fall.” The detective’s voice held purpose and meaning beyond the conversation.

John had mastered not having his eyes glued to his feet by now, his fingers traced over Sherlock’s own wedding band, white gold and slightly thinner than his own. “You let me fall in love with you.” John teased, blue eyes sparkling with mirth as he looked up at Sherlock. 

The detective nodded and spoke quietly, “Yes, but we took that fall together.”

John’s eyes softened and the amusement dissipated. It is not often he received sincere declarations from Sherlock, it only means he treasures each one as its own moment. A pink tinge threatened to redden Sherlock’s cheeks as he brought their dance to a close. Around them the guests broke into applause. They could have been sucked into the void of time then and there. John would not have noticed. 

John’s hand ran fondly up Sherlock’s lapel and around the nape of his neck before he pulled him down. He met Sherlock halfway, rising on the balls of his feet to capture his husband’s lips. Except the intended warm kiss was more a gentle brush, as both gave way to broad smiles of true happiness. 

****

 

John pressed Sherlock’s shoulders back into the pillows, grinning down at him as he straddled over his hips. The doctor’s eyes were dark with arousal as he reached back with slicked fingers to quickly prepare himself. 

“Who’d have thought you would become so sentimental. How many Watson’s did you dance with again?” 

Sherlock’s hands ran from John’s shoulders, thumbing over his scar tissue, over the slight curve of his pectorals and down the softness of his stomach. His eyes traced the same trail before stopping where John’s hand disappeared underneath. He licked his lips. “Bloody well all of them I think.” He blew his breath out and up, ruffling his curls, his bottom lip jutting out. 

After their first dance had opened up the floor to other couples, Harry had felt it necessary to have Sherlock dance with every Watson she could find, few and far between as they are these days. The sister-in-law, mother-in-law, an elderly uncle and two cousins later, Sherlock had managed to tear himself away and narrowly avoided one of the cousins copping a good feel. 

John took the invitation of Sherlock’s lips to tilt his head up and pull said bottom lip between his teeth, kissing him as thorough as deep. In turn, Sherlock rocked up; his hands reaching around for John’s round ass cheeks, spread them and ran a dry finger over the stretched rim of John’s entrance. The doctor shuddered in his husband’s lap, eyes dropped closed and with a look of desperation and bliss all at once. 

Mirroring his desperation, Sherlock grabbed at the lube John had discarded on the duvet and audibly flicked the cap. With a small groan at his husband’s touch, John slicked his cock generously. Meanwhile, Sherlock was getting impatiently distracted.

 _Flick._

“Post-stimulation, it takes an average of seven seconds for nipple erectile tissue to fully harden.” He murmured. John grunted as he flicked again. 

_Flick._

“Sherlock.”

“Yours are surprisingly more responsive.”

 _Flick._

Annoyance faded to fondness. The doctor ran his fingers, nails first, through Sherlock’s curls, brushing them from his forehead. Hands cupping Sherlock’s jaw, he pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, recapturing Sherlock’s attention. 

Sherlock bit his lip and glanced up, “Sorry,I-“

“I love you.”

Sherlock’s eyes softened, before crinkling, his mouth turning up. “So cliché to say before we have sex, John, _on our wedding night._

John pushed at Sherlock’s shoulders again, grinning and maneuvering. “Shut up, you berk.” He reached around to grip the base of Sherlock’s dick, guiding him to nudge at his slicked entrance. 

Sherlock gasped as John’s body engulfed him, tight and familiar. “Fuck, oh god.”

John sighed once he was fully seated, sheathing Sherlock and clenching a little around him. He hummed, rocking his hips experimentally and watched as Sherlock’s eyes rolled back.

Their lovemaking was slow and sensual; all undulating hips and quiet exhalations of pleasure. The grip Sherlock kept on John’s hips would turn to soft purple bruising come the morning, and Sherlock’s fingers will ghost over where they gripped with a reverence he has never before held for another. 

Afterwards, cocooned in their bed and cocooned in each other, the detective spooned up against John’s back, wrapped his arms around his love and pressed a soft chaste kiss to the back of the dosing man’s neck.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know if anything is a miss, lovelies. Kudos and Comments are love and absolutely brighten my day!!


End file.
